


It's About Time We Talk

by sherrllocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, mention of suicide, they finally talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherrllocked/pseuds/sherrllocked
Summary: After four months of no contact, John returns to Baker Street to try and resolve things with Sherlock.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat staring at the notebook.  He’d stopped at the first page even though he wanted to read on.  He couldn’t.  He had made a promise to himself and more importantly he had made a promise to John.  He’d give John time and in return, hopefully John could find a way to forgive him and come back to him.  But it had been four months now.  Four long months that Sherlock had occupied 221b all to himself and the walls were closing in. It was getting harder to resist the temptation, the itch of drugs calling to him or picking up the phone and calling him – he didn’t know which was worse, but he had promised.  Now the notebook lies there on the coffee table taunting him.  He could use it as an excuse to text John, tell him that he had found some of his things and that he would leave them downstairs with Mrs. Hudson and he could pick them up at his convenience.  He didn’t have to go into detail as to what items they were but the sooner he got rid of that notebook, the easier it would be to keep his promise.

Sherlock huffed and turned his back to the coffee table now.  Out of sight but not out of mind.  What he read was stuck in his mind and this he could not delete.  No matter how hard he tried, the words were seared in his brain and he could not stop himself from dissecting their meaning.  He tried to think of other things, but he couldn’t, every thought came back to John.  Back to what he had written so long ago and Sherlock could not stop himself from thinking that from these words lie the answer he didn’t want to accept.  That John could not forgive him, that he had crossed one too many lines, told one too many lies and that John would never again be part of his life.  That all Sherlock would have now were memories, memories that he could never escape. 

He closed his eyes and sighed as John’s almost illegible scrawl invaded his thoughts, John’s voice whispering in his ear as though he was sitting there lamenting over the choices he had made.

 

_If I’ve learned anything over the past few months, it’s that we all lie.  For most of us, they are little white lies – unimportant answers to unimportant questions.  Or maybe they’re just out of necessity so people won’t needlessly worry about us._

_The most common one you may wonder? It’s the lie we tell ourselves or others when asked how we are._

_“Yeah, I’m fine.  Everything is good.”  That becomes the default answer, one that you pray people will believe even though you know better, because it’s easier than the truth.  Simply put, the truth is too painful to bear and no one really cares.  They want you to think they do, but it’s only their job to ask.  And your friends, they’ve all disappeared, too busy still being in Afghanistan fighting the war or back at home moving on with their families.  Me?  I have no one.  No one to check in on me except my therapist and I spend most of my sessions lying to her._

_Why you ask?  Because I’m almost forty, an ex-army doctor that was invalided home after taking a round to my left shoulder, almost dying from it thanks to infection from unsanitary conditions on the battlefield.  You would think in this day and age things like that could be avoided but sometimes they still happen.  Thanks to this nasty little wound in my shoulder, I now sport an intermittent tremor in my hand which makes surgery work an impossibility and a limp that shouldn’t be there but is thanks to my head.  No wonder no one takes a second glance at me.  I’m invisible in a city of almost 8.6 million people._

 

Sherlock wanted to scream, he didn’t know what to do.  He should have seen beyond the carefully constructed façade John had had in place, but he had been too worried about not letting his own mask slip that he completely missed that there was so much more to John Watson.  Sure he had seen through the most obvious parts of the façade, but John was cleverer.  John had hidden much from Sherlock, from everyone really and now it may be too late to fix all that was broken between them.

Sherlock had flipped through the sizable notebook trying to think of one reason to read.  He wasn’t even looking at the words, rather the dates and the further back the journal he got, the worst thing happened, for 3 weeks nothing, the fourth was **_damn you Sherlock!_** Same for the next pages until about six months later.

It had taken John Watson six months to forget him and it took Sherlock almost a year and a half when he got home (coincidently almost the same length of time he was gone, right after John had forgotten about him) to destroy all the good doctor ever wanted, a wife and a family and ironically, that turned out to be a façade as well.  A baby that wasn’t his and a woman whose proper name he didn’t even know.

 

XXXXX

Sherlock hadn’t even touched a cigarette or eaten much, basically he did nothing.  Not even an 8 could get him out of the house.  The phone rang and his heart jumped a little as he dared to hope when he picked up the phone and saw the screen.

“Whatever you want the answer is already no.”

“Well then brother mine, shall I ring Mrs. Hudson, she’ll be delighted to come up and take care of you.”

“ **NO! I DON’T NEED HER OR YOU AND I DON’T NEED ANYONE!”** he screamed as he slammed the phone down and clutched the pillow tight to his chest, falling to his side, tears starting to fall, “except John.” He whispered into the otherwise silent flat.

XXXXX

 

As luck would have it John Watson was standing on the stoop of 221b with his key out, deciding whether to go in.  Maybe Sherlock wasn’t home.  Maybe he was doing some shopping at Tesco’s, or out on a case with Lestrade – working would be good for him, or worst case scenario – maybe he had moved on and there was no room for John Watson in his life.  It had been four months and just as Sherlock had promised, no calls, no texts, no letters and to be honest that hurt John the most out of everything.  He forgave him for missing the clues about Mary, he had just come back from Serbia and was suffering through shock and John’s anger and Mary seeming to be an ally to Sherlock.

He found that he had backed off the stoop and was now pacing back and forth, _oscillation on the pavement – love affair – and this was the worst kind_ , he wanted to come home, he wanted to find out, he wanted to throw caution to the wind and find out once and for all.

 _Screw it_ he thought, now’s a better time than ever, four months had been long enough, in fact way to long.  He wanted to move back the second everything was over but knew that wouldn’t look good after the cover story Mycroft had come up with.  The story was that they were in a fatal car accident and Mary or whatever her real name was, was locked up and awaiting death and then they found out the baby’s father was her handler so Mycroft could not let the baby go to him.  Mycroft knew several couples who were looking to adopt so he paced the child with the best family.  Mycroft also made sure that John got all of Mary’s assets to help him live, he deserved it after all because he couldn’t go back to work for a while and he needed money to live on.  Normally John would have objected but he did deserve it and only spent what was necessary.  He sold the townhouse and rented a small flat and kept the car and he didn’t feel guilty at all.

He put his key in the lock and opened the door.  Sherlock, too lost in his misery never heard the steps on the stairs and when John opened the door to the flat, his heart fell to his stomach. 

“Sherlock.” John moved closer and crouched in front of him noticing the puffiness of his eyes and the tears that stained his cheeks.

Sherlock was just staring off into space.  He managed to speak.  “You aren’t real, please leave me in peace.”

“Sherlock it’s really me,” John replied as he wiped the tears away from his cheeks with his thumbs.

Sherlock bolted upright, “Mycroft sent you didn’t he?”  he was defensive now.

“No, no one sent me, I came because I wanted to.  We need to talk, really talk.  I want to come home. If you’ll have me.”  John was concerned about the way Sherlock looked, he had lost weight and hadn’t shaved in who knows how long and there were dark circles under his eyes which meant he hadn’t been sleeping either and by the looks of things, he hasn’t been out of the flat for the four months John was gone.  It was definitely time for John to come home.

“Would you like some tea and toast?”

“I have tea but no toast.”

“I can go down and get a few slices of bread from Mrs. Hudson.”

He stood up and turned to go down to Mrs. Hudson’s when he saw his journal.  “So that where I left it.”

“I swear, I only read the first page, and then put it down, it was your private journal and I know how you feel about your privacy. Although I did flip through and look at the dates.  It took you six months to forget me.  So I can only assume that’s when Mary came into your life.”

“Can we please not talk about her, at least not yet.”

Sherlock nodded and John left to get some bread from Mrs. Hudson.  When he came back upstairs he put the tea on and got the toast ready.  He made the tea just as Sherlock liked it and lightly buttered the toast and took it in and sat it on the coffee table.

“You know I wouldn’t have minded if you read the notebook.”

“I couldn’t, it was yours, private and I made promises to myself about snooping on you anymore which is why I’ve not texted or called you all these months.”

“I’m impressed,” John grinned, “but we really need to talk.  You know at one point I did blame you for everything but then I realized it was just as much my fault.  I’m not mad at you, you were just doing what you thought would make me happy.”

“John, you did seem happy, but why did you hide it?  I noticed the change at the reception when I told you Mary was pregnant, you didn’t even look at her, you fixed your eyes on me and that’s when I knew, but you still can’t admit it.”

John was surprised, Sherlock had finally figured it out, maybe there was a chance after all.

“But I know that’s not what you want, you just want the cases and the adrenaline they provide and I’m not sure I can live like that anymore, not with how I feel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's surprised Sherlock is willing to talk.

John didn’t know where to begin.  How could Sherlock think that’s not what he wanted?  Surely he understood why John needed time; why they both needed time after everything that had happened.  John opened his mouth to speak then shut it again.  He needed to think about the best place to start before he made things worse.  He decided to play it safe, “drink your tea and eat your toast and then we will talk.”

Sherlock nodded and reached for his cup and took a small sip.  It was wonderful, exactly how he liked and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something so flavourful, not since John had gone out of his life again.  In fact, he’d gone back to his old ways of barely eating and drinking since that night four months ago, so he obeyed when John told him to eat and drink.

A half smile formed across John’s lips to see Sherlock reach for the toast, that’s when he decided to stand and head for the loo.  He needed these moments to focus on what to say, not to hover over Sherlock while he consumed his tea and toast.  He quietly shut the door and paced the small space.  There was so much to say, perhaps he should start at the beginning.  No, maybe he should just let Sherlock read the journal.  No that was the easy way out.  Where he needed to start was where he didn’t want to -  with Mary, that’s what stood between them now.  Why John had chosen Mary over Sherlock.  He needed to answer for that.  He took a deep breath then turned the tap to cold and splashed some water on his face and looked in the mirror.  He looked older than he should, these four months had not been kind to either of them, but it was time to go and face the music.  He dried his face and returned to the sitting room to his chair.

Sherlock remained on the sofa watching John’s every move.  John had glanced at his plate and was glad to see he had finished the toast.  “Do you need more tea?”

Sherlock shook his head no, “John, quit stalling.  You know I dislike talking things out, but you are correct when you said this needs sorting.”

“I know.  I’m sorry, it’s just tough to decide where to begin.  First and foremost, I owe you an apology and an explanation and I’m not sure that makes up for all the wrong that me choosing Mary has done to us.  I mean, I know it’s not only that, but the rest of it all had simple explanations in comparison.  I understand why you couldn’t tell me about the fall but if you had, we wouldn’t be here at this point.”

“John that’s ridiculous, to blame me…” Sherlock began in a huff but John stopped him.

“No, listen, I wasn’t finished.  Sherlock, I hadn’t forgotten you but I thought you were dead.  You had been my whole life, the one thing good I had going for me and when you ‘ _died_ ’ part of me did too.  I didn’t want to accept it.  I kept thinking it must be a trick, some sort of sick joke.  I begged for you to come back and you didn’t.”  John could feel the tears welling in his eyes and he certainly didn’t care when they started to spill, he needed this off his chest.  “I was so lost and angry that I couldn’t stop you that I wanted to join you and believe me, I tried several times but I couldn’t in those first few weeks because what if you came back with some unbelievable story to explain it all away?  So I gave my gun to Lestrade, I threw myself into work trying to get through each hour at a time.  By the end of those six months I had to make a decision.  That you were gone for good and I should join you or to try and move forward with my life.”

“Yes, well we all know what you chose.” Sherlock sneered, choosing to ignore John’s lapse into his old mindset of not being useful, they would talk about that then but right now he had to allow John to finish.

“You berk, LISTEN, it wasn’t like that.  It’s not like on that day I had asked her to marry me.  That’s the day I decided to live because that’s what you would want of me.  My days still continued to be dark and dreary, but they were a little easier to bear knowing that I was hopefully doing what you would want of me.  Mary had then started working at the clinic and took an interest in me, but I kept turning her down whenever she asked me for coffee or lunch.  Eventually she caught me on a day when I said yes to coffee and at the beginning, being with her was a bit of an escape from the loneliness.  I won’t go into detail, but it just became like everything else, something that helped to keep my mind off you and how much I missed you.  If I kept myself and my mind occupied, then I wasn’t thinking of you and that day at Bart’s and how I failed you because that’s what it had felt like to me Sherlock.  That I failed because you jumped and I regretted all the things that I had said to you before I left you at Bart’s that day.  It still haunts me.  If I had known, I would have waited for you.”

Sherlock was beginning to see and understand John’s reasoning, but it did little to explain why he still chose Mary then.  “I couldn’t tell you.  The danger it posed was too great.”

“I understand that now and I know I still haven’t answered your question, why I chose her if it’s you that I really wanted.  I’m not sure I can adequately explain it but I will try and please do not see it as me trying to place blame elsewhere, because that’s not it.  I felt stuck.  I was so unbelievably mad at you though so relieved you were back that all I wanted was to come back home to you but then there was Mary and you were so intent that I stay with her that I couldn’t fathom it.  I mean you wanted me by your side to help with cases and the like but not at Baker Street where I should have been.  I should have insisted but I was just so glad to have you back that I didn’t want to push you away.”

John had been looking at his feet mostly when he spoke and he now risked a glance at Sherlock, who had now crossed his legs and steepled his fingers under his chin.  He was still present in their conversation, but not saying much.

“Sherlock, please talk to me.”  John said quietly.

“I’m not sure where to begin.  It hurt me when I came back and found you with her.  I was relieved after you had forgiven me and I thought that you being with her was what you wanted.  You finally seemed to have what you wanted.  If I had not been so blind we could have avoided everything that happened with her.  I knew things couldn’t go back to the way they were.  What I don’t understand is why you would even think about suicide and you’re right, that’s not what I would want for you and I’m glad you had the presence of mind to take steps by giving your gun to Lestrade.  It would have killed me to come home and find you gone forever, so I am beginning to understand why you were with her.  He couldn’t bear to say her name.  I do want to tell you that I had Mycroft watching over you and he would have intervened if things had gotten really bad.  When I finally returned thinking that I had completely dismantled Moriarty’s network, he filled me in on everything that was going on with you and I was shocked, but it was understandable, I see that now.”

“Sherlock I’m sorry for everything.  I want to come home.  Do you think that’s possible?”

“It’s all I want John.  I know things won’t be exactly the same, but maybe in time they will be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the brevity of this chapter. It's meant to be a transition and the muse isn't cooperating as much as I would like him to. Hopefully this will ease me back into the story, I just wanted to let you guys know that I haven't abandoned it or given up on it, it may just take longer than usual between chapters. And thank you for being patient.

John was overjoyed, but there were still things that needed to be resolved. 

“Sherlock, we can do this on your time table, I don’t want to rush you.”

“That won’t be a problem John, as far as I’m concerned we can start packing your stuff tomorrow and moving you back home.  I miss having you here, it feels empty without you in the flat.”

John couldn’t believe his ears, “I’d like that very much.  I take it Mrs. Hudson didn’t rent my room.”

“No, she was certain you’d come back eventually after you had time to heal.  She’ll be delighted when she finds out.”

John smiled, “I know we still have things to work out and you’re right, it won’t be exactly the same, but I want to try.  Can you do me a favour though?  I give you permission to read my journal, I’d like it if you would, it will help you understand, better than me trying to explain it to you with words.”

Sherlock was surprised, he did want to read, but somehow it still felt wrong even with John’s permission.  “I don’t know John, I’ve respected your privacy and I think it would just be easier to communicate openly from now on.  I will consider it, but it doesn’t matter now.  I think it’s better I hear it out loud from you, besides, you conveyed your feelings quite loud and clearly for now.”

John couldn’t believe his ears, Sherlock had changed over these four months, some bad and some good.  He was impressed that Sherlock would rather talk than just read his journal, but he was upset to see that he went back to his old habit of barely eating enough.  He would work on changing that when he moved back in.  There was a lot he had to do, break the lease to his flat, but that wouldn’t be a problem and it wouldn’t take long to pack because he only had what he owned when he used to live at 221b.

John bid Sherlock farewell for the evening even though it was barely half six.  Upon his arrival at his own flat however, he felt empty again.  He started packing boxes and knew he would be home again tomorrow, but that didn’t fill the void in his being.  He set the books on the desk next to the box and retreated into his room.  He reached under his bed for his duffle and began to pack most of his clothes and his bag of toiletries.  He wasn’t going to sleep here tonight.

About an hour and a half after John had left the flat, a grin spread across Sherlock’s lips as he sat at the kitchen table peering at a slide through his microscope as he heard John ascend the stairs to his old bedroom.  After John had left, he had raced up the stairs and dusted and fluffed the bed, he knew John would be back.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock was sitting on the couch with plates in front of him when John had returned to the main floor.

He was in his pyjamas and robe already and rubbed the back of the neck, “I hope this is ok.”

Sherlock smiled, “I’ve already ordered us dinner, now why don’t you pick some crap telly we can watch and tomorrow we can work on your flat.  We’ve made enough strides for one day, don’t want to overdo it.”

“No, I suppose you’re right.” John agreed joining him on the couch and picking up the remote.


	4. Chapter 4

Two hours later, they were still perched on the couch, the takeaway long finished, watching reruns of Top Gear.

“We’ve seen this one before, haven’t we?” John asked.

Sherlock gave a noncommital shrug and continued staring at the screen.  “You seem to be enjoying it.”

John turned and looked at him quizzically, ‘you know, if you want, you can go back to inspecting your slides or whatever it was you were doing before I came back to the flat.”

Sherlock shook his head, “no, I’m rather enjoying this, but will you do me a favour?  When you go upstairs for the evening, can you take your journal along and put it somewhere away.”

“Sherlock, I told you…”

“Yes, I know John, but I much prefer we talk about things because there are things I have never told you about my time away.  Things that need recounting.  I just can’t hand you some journal and say, here read this you’ll understand.  That does not mean I don’t value or understand the importance of the choice you’ve given me by allowing me to read the journal, it’s just I can’t offer you the same.  If we do this, it should be done equally, the same.”

John wasn’t sure what to think about that.  He had been curious as to exactly what Sherlock had been up to those two years but he never really questioned the nature because Sherlock came back and seemed fine, but now with this statement, maybe that was not quite the case.  He’d been so focused on himself and his pain that he never even once gave a thought as to what Sherlock had been through or how he was coping.

John cleared his throat. “You have a point, I will take it with me.  This,” he waved his hand around, “is going to take a bit of getting used to again.  You’ve no idea how I longed for it since you came back.  Even though you pushed me in her direction, the only place I wanted to be was here, doing this, having a night in, eating takeaway and watching crap telly, though it’s a bit weird when you aren’t shouting insults at the telly.”

“I seem to remember we agreed to ease into this slowly so that’s what I was trying to do.  Though you’re right, everything does seem a bit surreal.  It’s rather like a vivid dream that I hope I won’t wake from.”

“You aren’t dreaming,” John said placing his hand on Sherlock’s, “I’m back and I’m here to stay.”

They chatted for a bit more and forgot all about the telly and then Sherlock’s phone beeped.  It was Lestrade.  Seemed he had a case that needed Sherlock’s attention.

Sherlock looked at John, “Would you like to come along?”

“Are you kidding?  I’ve been waiting for this.  Should I bring my gun?”

“Doesn’t seem like it will be needed.” Sherlock answered.

“I’ll go get ready, meet you back down here in ten minutes.”

“Mmm. Sounds good,” Sherlock answered, his mind already immersed in the few facts Lestrade had given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

The case started in an antique bookshop and appeared to be a robbery/murder.  Of course it’s never that simple when Lestrade resorted to calling Sherlock in and soon John and Sherlock were traipsing all over London like old times, though something seemed to be off.  Sherlock seemed to be having trouble concentrating and John chalked it up to the four months without participating in any cases.

When they had stopped at a café to warm up and grab a quick bite to eat early the next morning, Lestrade told John he was glad to have him back at Baker Street.  “Quite frankly, I was beginning to worry about Sherlock, thought he’d gone back to drugs.  Couldn’t lure him out with any cases.”

“I think we both just needed time to get ourselves right, get things in perspective.  I couldn’t exactly move back into Baker Street right away, plus I needed time to deal with things.”

“Yeah mate, I’m sorry for how that all turned out, messy business and all.  Thank goodness you had Mycroft to take care of all of it.”

“Isn’t that the truth.  One of the few things he’s good for,” John said taking a sip of his coffee.  “Look, you’re one of a handful of people that actually know what happened…”

“You don’t have to worry about me mate, it’s all good.”

They sat away from Sherlock continuing their conversation while Sherlock replayed the night’s events over in his mind, trying to figure out what he had missed.  The only thing was is that he couldn’t concentrate on the case one hundred percent, his mind kept drifting back to him and John.  This wouldn’t do, he needed to solve this and then get back to Baker Street and hash out the rest of things between him and John so they could return to some normalcy.  He was secretly glad John and Lestrade were over in the corner talking so he had time to think to himself, he didn’t want either of them realizing he was distracted.  He started over at the beginning, going through each detail he could recall until he finally found the missing piece.  The receipt missing for the antique Dickens book that had been sold prior in the day.  Whoever had the receipt was the culprit and with the help of the video cameras in the shop, they should have no problem nabbing the guilty party.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock piped up, "go through the video feeds and find who brought the copy of the Dicken’s book, that’s your killer.”

“Right,” said Lestrade and radioed back to the officers working the tapes what to look for. 

John cleared his throat, “does that mean you’re done with us now?”

Lestrade nodded, “Sure, why don’t the two of you go home and get some rest and I’ll call you later if I need anything.”

“Good.” Sherlock said.  “John, let’s get going, we have some things to take care of back at the flat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and comments and kudos are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> As always comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you.


End file.
